Did you find your wife again? And do you remember how I made you learn my will by heart—word for word—in spite of your childlike tears?
The next morning I departed with the transport. This time it was not a ruse.
We were not heading for the gas chambers, and we actually did go to a rest camp.
Those who had pitied me remained in a camp where famine was to rage even more fiercely than in our new camp.
They tried to save themselves, but they only sealed their own fates. Months later, after liberation, I met a friend from the old camp.
He related to me how he, as camp policeman, had searched for a piece of human flesh that was missing from a pile of corpses.
He confiscated it from a pot in which he found it cooking. Cannibalism had broken out. I had left just in time.
Does this not bring to mind the story of Death in Teheran? A rich and mighty Persian once walked in his garden with one of his servants.
The servant cried that he had just encountered Death, who had threatened him.
He begged his master to give him his fastest horse so that he could make haste and flee to Teheran, which he could reach that same evening.
The master consented and the servant galloped off on the horse.
On returning to his house the master himself met Death, and questioned him, “Why did you terrify and threaten my servant?”
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